You know the ones... with the 'perfect lawns', the symmetrically articulate and perfect rows of mowed grass - arched delicately around oblong flower beds, randomly placed trees and other obstacles. The kinds of things that would drive my soon-to-be-ex nuts.

And I was all like (to myself), 'what the heck? just mow around it...'

People do this stuff all the time ... in suburban neighborhoods all across our great land. The familiar and annoying sound of lawn equipment is expected throughout the warmer seasons. It's 8:32 pm as I write this, and I can hear a weed whacker in the distance. It's a job we dread, but a result we can't seem to live without. I think in some neighborhoods, not mowing your lawn is a criminal offense.

For me, however, hopping astride my little tractor was a Great Victory in Single Womanhood.

Once I got it started, that is.

Last year, this was son #2's job. This year, as I broke the news it would no longer be a paid position, it is now my job. At least, if I want it done more often than once a month.

I, however, failed to deal with the 'broken mower' during the time between when it broke last fall up to one month after the new spring growth, causing me to call up Retired Lawn Guy whose number I thankfully wrote down while following his truck on the highway last winter.

In the meantime, finally overcoming my fear of being gouged by Lawnmower Repair Guy, I called him, and after only slightly exploiting my plight as single income earner, he suggested a new battery was needed, and if I bought it from him, he wouldn't charge me for driving over to my house to offer that information.

Fair enough.

While basking in the pride of purchasing a battery and installing it (only got it in backwards once) and even refilling the oil, I was discouraged to find it still wouldn't start.

Actually, it ran for about a half an hour, during which I did a bang up job on my foot high grass... totally too intimidated by this loud piece of equipment to care about things like straight lines.

Here is my facebook post from that glorious day:

Made the mistake of turning it off to field a question from a son, after which it wouldn't start again... dammit.

Trying not to beat myself up too badly for having to depend on yet another male, a friend suggested the problem might be with some mysterious thing called 'the solenoid'.. and yes, I'm learning more about lawnmowers then I ever thought I'd have to.

With him basking in his own victory of having Solved the Problem, he wanted to mow my lawn.  Came back in two days to mow it on the perpendicular, make it purty-like.

Hey, knock yourself out.

And it was. Purty-like. I'll hand it to him for that.

So, today, my kids are gone -  I thought, I have some time. Without any rain for a couple weeks, my grass has grown about a quarter of an inch. Surely it needs a trim.

Baby starts right up. Niiice. And I'm all out there, picturing my sympathetic but unhelpful neighbors, peering at me from behind their blinds. (I seem to get really self-conscious while performing this task.. though as I've managed to make known my Situation to all the bordering neighbors, I like to think they take some pity on me.)

I'm making nice parallel rows, cross-grain to my friend's last job, navigating the bushes and flower bed, running over a dead bird that I didn't see till the last minute until it goes shooting out off to the side... feeling pretty damn good about life and myself, and managing to accomplish a task I've always taken for granted.

I can DO this! I am WOMAN ... with a MOWER... hear us ROAR!

Until I run out of gas.

No problem. I can handle this. Fill 'er up, check the oil for good measure. She won't start. Okay. So, I saw my friend do this. Tap the solenoid, jiggle the wires. Nothing.

Walk around the mower a couple times, look like I know what I'm doing (remember? nosy neighbors..) Admit defeat. 

I am woman. Watch me push a 500-pound mower back into the garage.

And then crack a beer.

I think I'm totally getting the hang of this.

And then the difference between letting go and giving up. Or is there a difference?

Giving up has earned a bad rap.. like it's resignation, or an admission of defeat or failure. But, upon close reflection, we have 'giving', and 'up'.. almost like 'offering up'... a practice of surrender. As in, this is how things are... my will is not enough to change circumstances... and I'm not happy with it. But I accept that I don't have all the answers, or the broadest of persepctives, and it's really not for me to rail against what is, or a ggod use of my eergy wishing for it to be otherwise.

There's a Buddhist practice of 'offering up our pain to the deities'... in which, while we struggle with suffering, we can at least offer it up, with the intention of having it transformed by higher wisdom into something that could be of comfort to others.

Where is this coming from?

Well, I'm immersed in a lesson... have been for a few months now. It's challenging the very edifice I've built an lifelong identity on. There's immense joy in it, but there's also pain... and when the pain threatens, I try to push the whole experience away. Which invariably causes more pain.

It gets complicated.

The pushing away, I've realized, comes from a need to maintain a hugely outdated story about myself. Duh. And so, while the lesson will still have to run its course, and probably bring along some sadness with it, I've found that a daily, sometimes even hourly practice of 'letting go', is bringing some sense of peace with it all.

Things are what they are. There's beauty in this, though what I've been longing for is perfection... at least as much as my own mind can conceive. And every day is a reminder that this dream, this illusion of mine, is not to be had.

So, I give up.

I surrender.

And therein, gain it all.

Stuff I hadn't done before:

Trimmed my hedges

Inspected my roof shingles. From atop the roof.

Used the phrase, 'billable hours'

Bought my own set of tires

Checked off the separated/divorced box on a questionnaire

Stuff I expect to be learning to do soon:

Fixing holes in drywall

Researching health/life insurance plans

Buying my own tools

Filing my own taxes

Stuff I miss doing:

Getting foot massages

Coming home to prepared dinner

Having someone else share bathroom cleaning

Going to sleep at night with that comfortable feeling of being surrounded by family

 To be continued.

I would love to come across a simple checklist:

- agree on child-sharing (check)

- divvy up the stuff (check)

- shake hands (check)

- sign here, please

- and here

I now pronounce you unmarried. (See? That was easy.)

As is the way of the interwebz, it's not the lack of information that's the problem - it's way too damn much.

95% of the info about divorce assumes a major conflict and involves lawyers. Yes, I have some questions -  simple things really - that I can't afford to pay someone $300 an hour to have answered. But more than that is I'm not really sure all what questions I should be asking. (Hence the need for lawyers/mediators, right?)

And the sites advocating legal help are very sure to put the fear in me that if I mismanage this now, I could be signing away my life, and end up living in a cardboard box.

I trust my soon-to-be-ex, I really do, in that I know he wants things to be fair and equitable for both of us. But we also have a history of screwy communication even under the best of circumstances. And this is one area, maybe the most important area ever, in which clarity is paramount.

(I also have a history of not asking questions in a timely fashion..)

For the moment, most stuff seems simple, in that we can agree on how to deal with what is right now.

But I can already see hints of potential snags, and this is where I'm trying to get a handle on what to anticipate, like, okay, so if this happens, then what? And if I agree to this now, what does this mean down the road.. stuff that maybe neither of us foresaw? And what if the kids, of which there are four with their own agendas and emotions, don't wanna do such and such, then what?

Lots of moving parts. See?

(Hey, what does this red button do....?)

Nothing in the way of drama - just slow, small changes.

And today, for me, a strange sense of groundlessness. Which actually isn't all that strange, in that I've noticed some time ago, there's no place I've ever truly felt home, or of 'having arrived'.

A consequence of my transitory childhood...? Who knows...

Today, however ... this was different. Crunching numbers this morning ... seeing what I'll actually be dealing with as I take on the mantle of single-motherhood - good stuff, in some ways - time to grow up and all that.

Yeah, the future is uncertain, but this feeling transcended that. Not fear, or even stress.. though I imagine that will catch up with me soon... but something like the slow seeping in of the loss of an accustomed way of life.

It's been a long, slow, quiet separation - almost indescernable - especially in the summer, as he's spent longer and longer periods of time at the beach over the past few years. And at times, it's almost seemed unreal, or that it wouldn't ever really happen. Even talking about it felt like I was talking about someone else.

But, now that it's all out in the open... our sons know, our friends and family, too ... it's the little things that are hitting me. References made to 'my' house. Discussions about yard work. The boys' questions about dad's stuff. The sudden absence of his two Oriental rugs.

The dawning realization that nothing will ever be like it was.

Yes, I know. Understatement of the year. And this is just the beginning.

The original reason onlyhuman disappeared from the airwaves was because I redid my Grace in Gravity banner, and therefore, needed something new for o.h., but never got around to it.

As the weeks went by, life started to get a bit more complicated, and while more blog-worthy-ish stuff seemed to be going on in my life, my desire to write about it kinda disappeared... not to mention that certain developments were going down that I really couldn't make public yet.

Namely, that of my husband's and my decision to end our marriage of 21 years.

This has been in discussion mode for at least a year, but yesterday is when we chose to notify our four sons, thereby making it somewhat official.

Yes, this is a private family matter, and for the most part will remain so, though, because my husband and I are choosing to go through this as consciously and amicably as possible -  and it seems to be something a LOT of others are going through - I will share some aspects of this process.

This is every bit as complicated on all levels as it's cracked up to be, and I'm learning that it affects lives beyond the six of us.

But I'm hopeful abut the future, and already finding blessings among the chaos.. the fortitude and fragile tenderness exhibited among my sons ranking high on the list.

Anyway, I hope this explains some of my absence here, and my 'off-ness'.. things will be shifting and changing to accomodate this new dynamic, but I hope to have some semblance of routine again soon.

So, as we've been tending to say a lot around here lately, onward and upward.

I should have known I would come across at least one harsh criticism about the founders of this practice and their alleged less-than-honorable intentions.

Stopped me in my tracks, to say the least.

All my fears of being duped, being scammed, and even worse, enticed into a cult of some sort rose like a flush on the back of my neck and gave me a panic.

Who knows what that was about, but it did make me think.

I mean, some stuff had happened for me, and how could that be explained?

Can my whole weekend be attributed to the placebo effect? Was I just another hapless victim of a couple of scam artists who so much desired some kind of spiritual epiphany and 'unusual experience' that I allowed myself to get sucked into a cult, and now foolishly believed that I can confer 'divine grace' on others with a touch of my hands?

I guess that's possible.

But let me just talk out loud here for a second and state what I am fairly sure about.

1) I am, as a friend of mine also claims himself to be, an open-minded skeptic.

2) In spite of what I do for a living, I've always (usually) been clear not to claim that I or my work does things that I have not experienced myself. And the experience part has been crucial because 'scientific method' has not yet 'proven' the validity of shiatsu, or Oriental medicine.

3) I am willing to accept that if something like Oriental medicine has been around for a couple thousand years, even if it hasn't been 'proven' as scientifically valid, there just may be something to it. Often it's just a matter of difference in description of what we're observing.

4) I am not historically a follower of gurus (now or ever).

5) I believe very strongly in the power of intention. That what you choose to get out of something is far more important than the something itself.

6) I am also not historically a big 'feeler of energy' or 'seer of auras'. In fact I've often felt quite handicapped in my ability to perceive anything beyond what my five senses tell me, or to trust in my intuition, whatever that is.

7) I do worry and try to be vigilant about being conned by people who seem to have short-cuts to enlightenment and will charge me out the wazoo to teach me how to get there.

8) Where am I going with this?

I had an experience this weekend. Actually a couple. And they were not the experiences I was expecting, nor were they experiences I thought I was capable of having.

Was it because Sri Bhagavan and Sri Amma are, in fact, these enlightened beings whose mission is to bring about mass global consciousness by 2012, all by the placing of hands on the head?

I have no fucking clue. And, actually, I don't care.  (Pardon my language.)

What I do know is that my intention with this, my purpose in life as it were, is get my fellow man and woman out of their heads, out of their stories, and live their lives with joy.

I don't want to be paid for it. I don't want credit for it. I just think that if people stop thinking so much and just live, as I've have had a few blessed moments of being able to do, we'll all be a lot happier and healthier and good to each other.

If people can get that as a result of my placing my hands on their heads with loving intention, without asking for money, who am I or anyone to say that this isn't a function of the Divine?

I also believe that to a large extent, our reality is subjective. And like A Course in Miracles teaches, things have meaning because we give them meaning. Which naturally implies that we can change the meaning of anything.

So, even if Sri Bhagavan Amma are a couple of con artists with self-serving and greedy intent, it's what I make of it that ultimately matters. Right?

In reflecting back over what's been asked of me... yeah, okay, there was an output of cash. $250. And yet, we also got lovely accommodations and delicious food for what we paid.

We were not required to sign anything, declare anything, pay homage or service to anyone, give up anything, or believe anything.

We were not instructed to go out and make money from this venture.

We were invited to pursue further training if we wished, but not required.

We were also encouraged to go out and share this thing, if we wanted.

Beyond the registration fee I could not see any way in which this would benefit the founders, or keep me tethered indefinitely to their Movement. (I will admit, though, that I wondered briefly if there was some secret brainwashing capability in the music we listened to. The Moola Mantra is highly addictive.)

And really, when I thought deeply about this, everyone is offering kool-aid of some kind.

Whether it's the Oneness Movement, or the Democratic party, or capitalism, or Christianity, or the holistic community (myself included) or the Tea-baggers, or Western civilization as a whole... there's a story. And an agenda. And a required investment.

This was a huge lesson for me in trusting my own experience. Me, who has always relied on external validation for the Truth.

And this is where I am now.

At this moment, I feel good about placing my hands on the head of another with the intent of conferring blessing and grace and hopefully, a taste of blessed Oneness.

Is that so bad?

(The Oneness Blessing, in their words..)

Massively life-changing events seem to take place in a matter of minutes.

Like in the space of the time it takes to hear the words, "Mr. and Mrs. _____, I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter has leukemia."

Just like that. Your life is now all. about. this. There is nothing else.

The little girl in this story is our niece. A beautiful child. All huge brown eyes and long black hair. A picky eater. A squeamish soul who passes out at the sight of blood on tv. An overbearing hugger and relentless tormentor of her closest cousin, my youngest boy of 9.

Her mom and I were pregnant together. Our babies were born five weeks apart. She's been tossed around and fussed over since birth by her older boy cousins... my other sons.

So her story becomes our story. But still, she will have to navigate her part in it alone.

Such as it is with stuff like this.

The sudden presence of cancer just plops into your life. Uninvited. Unapologetic. Unconcerned about the age or delicacy of the body it takes over.

Here I am, it says. Deal with it.

So you knuckle down and do the best you can. And you find your stories about The Way Things Are and Why suddenly getting their asses kicked.

Her father is currently in the fist-shaking stage. The 'everything I thought was true about the benevolence of the universe turned out to be a crock of shit' phase.

Her mother just wants to relieve her little girl's suffering, and with it, some of her own. But that's not working out too well.

They are just beginning to live out quite possibly the most difficult story a parent could ever live.

My husband says he would trade places with her in a minute, if he could.

I secretly feel grateful that he can't, and that this isn't happening to one of my children. And I feel somewhat ashamed for thinking that.

But the truth is I don't know if could deal with having my limits tested and my faith challenged to such an extent. It's one of my biggest fears.

It becomes all about us. Even when it's not, really. It's the nature of the thing.

We're all in this together - down in the muck or on the sidelines - because we're her family, and yet, we all have to work out what it means to us individually. All alone. In our own hearts and minds.

In the face of fear and helplessness, we search for some kind of meaning. We wonder what this sudden plot twist will bring us six months from now. Or a year. Or forever.

But is there meaning in this? Do things like this really happen for a reason? Did she create this reality? Did we? Does it matter? Would we learn the lesson even if there was one?

All I have so far is this:

How to accept what is. No stories. No meaning. Just now. This is it. This is life. And possibly what comes after. We'll just have to see.

~~~~~~~

"In the morning I'd awake and I couldn't remember
What is love and what is hate? - the calculations error
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate?
And why does it matter? - Is to love just a waste?
How can it matter? Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh; oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.

As the dawn began to break - I had to surrender
The universe will have its way - too powerful to master
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate?
And why does it matter? - Is to love just a waste?
how can it matter? Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."

~ "In the Morning of the Magicians", The Flaming Lips

To keep updated on how she's doing, please head over to the blog her uncle (my husband) is posting on..

Even if I did not make the goal, it was, in a very brief period of time, an interesting experiment in Asking, and then Receiving... Self-Worth, (and lack thereof) Intentions, Generosity, and again, the Power of Twitter.

Brief summary: I had this Big Thing I learned about six months ago and wanted to do that was far too much money and far too much distance away for me to realistically consider doing anytime soon, or ever.

Quipped to a friend: If this is 'meant' to happen, then it'll happen.

Last week: Learned that said "Thing" is now being offered not so far away at a not too expensive price. But still money that I didn't have, being four days after Christmas.

Seemingly Good Idea: Influenced by a couple L-of -A*-talkin' faces on Twitter and a couple glasses of Pinot Grigio, I started writing a blog post asking for monetary help with the intention of posting it on twitter. What harm could it do, right?

Next morning: Woke up thinking what a stupid idea. But I ventured on, finished the post, added the caveat that if I don't do this Thing, I'll give the money away. Immediately thinking I should give the money away anyway, but hit 'post'.

Twenty minutes later: I got three donations, and almost a third of the money I need. Jaw is on the floor.

Five hours later: I had four more donations, bringing me to just $99 shy. Head is spinning.

(I should add here that after that first 20 minutes, and even more so after the five hours later, the Doubts crept in, large and looming. Here's what they were saying:)

"This Thing is not something you Need! You gotta lotta nerve asking for money for something like this!"

"You don't even know if this Thing is something legitimate. It's woo-woo mystical scam bullshit for all you know, and these people, who don't even KNOW you are TRUSTING you with their hard earned cash.. for what??"

"You're squandering the goodwill of Twitter."

"Why don't you just give the money to someone who really needs it?"

These doubts were there to begin with when I wrote the post, but once the money started rolling in, suddenly the specter of Responsibility and Trust and Humility and Legitimacy and Self-Worth hit me quite hard.

$99 away from the goal, though.

And then, one of the gals who egged me on to begin with - apparently she had been holding out from the beginning. Upon hearing of this, even before I wrote about it, or knowing what the Thing even was, she was given 'divine guidance' to give me the money. All of it. Bless her.

And so, she agreed to close the gap. I agreed to allow her to do that if I split it with her.

Another gift appeared the next day, disguised as a detractor. Someone who managed to encapsulate every negative feeling I had about doing this.

A 'thrown shoe', to use Havi's expression.

How bizarre, this person mused, that I ask Twitter for money for a SEMINAR when millions are unemployed?

Ouch.

Like a slap in the face I suddenly saw this whole thing for the foolishness and selfishness that it was.

The uplift, the joy, the amazement I had been high on for the last 24 hours was immediately deflated in 140 characters or less.

I was ready to negate the good will and blessing that several people I highly respected had willingly because of one person's well-intended opinion.

Fortunately I had four shiatsu clients in a row and couldn't do anything about it except stew and fuss and try to be focused on my people.

But my mind ran through the gamut of defensiveness and snappy come-backs, to finally arrive on a degree of clarity (or, perhaps, more air-tight justification) about why I was doing this, which I don't think I would have gotten to otherwise had I not been challenged.

So, when I got back home, I thanked her.

It's a week later, and I'm making the preparations to go do this thing in four days. Along with the friend I made the original joke to, and quite possibly two others.. one who had been touched by deeksha over the summer, and one who is just learning about it.

The ease by which this all came together, in spite of how hard I was trying to make it, still leaves me in awe.

The loving support and generosity shown to me by those on Twitter... some who gave financial help, some who passed around my link, some who offered kind words... I am truly grateful for all of it.

I am still trying to free myself from grandiose expectations of what this weekend will bring, even as I want to make good with it in honor of everyone who helped, and am resolving to just stay open to whatever happens.

Specifically, my thanks to:

Christine

Hiro

Victoria

Mark "Hey, it's deeksha. No worries."

Bridget

Michelle 

Elizabeth

Ming and/or Carol

Havi (Todah Rabbah for the double chai!)

Majestic Wind :)

Amy

Lisa

Bambi Blue

Grace

(another) Amy

Fabeku (happy dance!)

and, of course, Tina, (and Melody) my bridge to oneness.. and yes, I will pay it forward.

(..special mention to the hubs, who know nothing of any of this until I got up the nerve to tell him of my weirdness, by which he was ultimately impressed, and supportive...)

anyone i overlooked?? Sorry.. let me know...

Who am I?

Not anyone special. And I don't exactly have a worthy cause.. I'm healthy, my family ... all healthy. I have many, many blessings.

Still, I am asking for your help. This is difficult, because there may be other unforeseen events in my future that would require the generosity of strangers.. a precious thing, not to be squandered or taken lightly.

But there is this thing. Something I did not, up until this point, write about, or really talk too much about.

I had the experience over this past summer, of being given deeksha, or oneness blessing.

I will write more about my experiences with that later, but as I told the friend who was with me that night, it was like everything changed and nothing changed. So profound, and so ordinary.

But so right. Like it was what I was supposed to do. If I believed in a 'supposed to'.

I learned that this was something people could be trained in bestowing upon others. But the process of getting that training involved a lot of money... more because the 7-10 day long training only happened in one of two places: India or Fiji (and where the hell is Fiji?), and was a bit too far on the horizon for me to comfortably reach for.

I imagine you may be thinking, 'New Age bullshit', 'quackery', or 'anything that spiritually profound would not cost so much or be so elitist, and what an idiot I am for falling for something like this'.

Perhaps all true, in which case, you may stop reading now and go in peace. I wouldn't blame you.

I wonder the same. And yet, as I joked to my friend, who also had longings to go to Fiji (wherever that is) that if the Universe wanted me to do this thing, then She better meet me halfway.

So, last night, I got an email notifying me that this training is available in New Jersey, January 9th and 10th, and is $250 if I register by December 30th. Tomorrow.

New Jersey. About 2 1/2 hours from here, and I'm pretty sure a hell of a lot closer than Fiji. Or India.

My mouth is still hanging open (as is my friend's) and I can faintly hear the universe laughing around me at Her response to the challenge I offered.

Why is this so important to me?

I don't really know. I don't necessarily believe in stuff "I am meant to do".

And yet. And yet....

I think it was the sheer underwhelm I felt in response to my deeksha experience.... the fact that I didn't go right home and blog about it ... like it was too precious. Too.. too... natural? I don't know. But I suspect that having this gift that I could then give others ... in my practice, in my life.... this is aligned with who I want to be in this world. One of the tools I am to pick up along the way, to be a clearer 'channel of grace', as Carolyn Myss would say.

And I still don't feel a need or desire to evangelize. Those who know what it is or feel mysteriously drawn to what I'm saying will understand. I hope.

Yes, it's only $250. But that $250 currently represents a percieved obstacle I have to surmount. (And my husband just totally had my mom's car overhauled, bless him. And we, like anyone else who may be reading this and more, have tons of bills and things that take priority over this...)

So, I toss the challenge back to the Universe. (As someone on twitter said to me,"Silly you, should have told the Universe to meet you all the way!")

I'm not too accustomed to telling the Universe anything. So, I shall ask. I will throw it up in the air again, tossing it back to the cosmos, and see what happens. I also humbly release my attachment to any outcome and will trust that if this training is aligned with my path, then it will come around again.

I accept that posting this sort of thing on my blog could have unintended consequences.  

But I'll never know unless I ask, right?

I have a number of things offered here on my site... affilliate situations and an Amazon bookstore, if those move you. Also a donation button below, and if you choose that route, and for whatever reason, I don't make it to the training, I will pass the money along to a charitable organization. Such as a family I know of that lost most of their house to a fire two days before Christmas.

Whom I should probably be giving to anyway...

And so, it is with a small degree of nail-biting and 'what the hell am I doing?' that I hit publish.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, if you've read this far.

Again.

Coming to terms with it over the past couple years has made it easier, and I think the tightness of our household economy has been a blessing in a way, requiring us to be even more mindful of the whole gift-giving thang.

Which has been the crux of the issue for me.

I love the holiday. Always have. And I felt like it was a sign of maturity on my part that the materialist aspect has gradually lost its allure. But there's still an obligation to participate, in a gift-giving way, at least in some circles, and because of my inner conflict about it, I procrastinate terribly on dealing with it.

And I know there's a beautiful lesson here for me, nestled within like a tiny jewel - something to do with Mark Silver's explanations about the flow of Giving and Receiving, Offering and Taking -  but I'm having trouble uncovering it.

This is a season of giving and receiving, which is a beautiful and joyful thing when that flow comes from and pours into the heart. I think this is where my inner conflict comes in, because there are so many small factors that tarnish the beauty... obligation, expectation, hurriedness, simply not knowing what would be gratefully received.

I want it to be more than the thought that counts, because gifts that are not whole-heartedly welcomed become burdens. Or clutter. Or a lasting example that I just was not paying attention to what was really wanted or needed.

It's a lot of pressure. And maybe I'm putting too much of it on myself, but after 20 years of parenthood and marriage, and collecting up all the tossed aside and unloved items that I thought were great ideas at the time, it became clear to me that my passion for Giving was not hitting the reciprocal Receiving mark. It became an exercise in buying for the sake of buying, because that's what we do, whether people need or want, or not.

It's what I grew up with. And, frankly, it was kinda fun.

But I still struggle with the conflict between the wasteful nature of this practice, and the dominant cultural paradigm, and its attendant fear that my child(ren) will suffer some sort of deprivation or disappointment if I don't get the right amount of stuff, never mind what it actually is.

And what could possibly be more sad, say all the tv dramas and Disney specials, than a kid who doesn't get what he wants on Christmas?

My friends? My co-workers, and grown-up relatives? I'm pretty sure they understand and don't feel slighted, and actually (hopefully) feel a little relieved that they aren't obligated to reciprocate for our family of six every year. (You're welcome...)

Thank you for letting me hash this out a little. Having some clarity of the reason behind my feet-dragging allows me a little peace in the compromise.

Because, while most of my guys are pretty minimalistic in their desires, I still have one child who just wants a bunch of cool stuff wrapped in pretty paper.

I couldn't bear to have him suffer disappointment. And besides, it allows me to still get my Santa on.

Amy is a friend of mine, and a woman I admire (yes, Amy, it's true), and mom to two awesome young women (and one young man, though I don't really know him, hence the absence of superlatives... but I'm sure he's simply wonderful, too..)

Anyway.

Amy invited me to be interviewed on the topic of unschooling. (My initial response was: "Sure! If you want people to hear how NOT to do it...")

Because it was only through the this opportunity to talk about it, and then the subsequent processing that's been occurring afterward that I realized some of the mixed feelings I've had around subjecting my family to this unconventional means of education and parenting.

I became aware that I haven't written much here on onlyhuman about this topic, and perhaps this is why.

Talking with Amy, though, gave me a chance to go there ... to explore more deeply some of the meaning behind my 'um's, and other hesitations with some of her questions, but also to happily discover that the philosophy behind unschooling (or lifelearning, or child-led learning, or..) also informs my shiatsu practice.

Which I am now going to go write about on the main blog page.

I also intend to retro-chronicle our unschooling (mis)adventures here. Because as I was telling Amy, one of the challenges I had during the thick of it was finding role models I could identify with. Sure, there were families with genius, motivated children who were conducting orchestras at the age of 10 and building nuclear reactors in their backyards, but those were not my children.

And then there was the 'fundamental' camp (lovingly dubbed the 'unschooling nazis') who believed (and were happy to tell you so) that any kind of suggestions or gentle encouragement from the parents was Coercion, and therefore, Evil, and definitely Not Unschooling.

Again, not very helpful to us mere mortals.

I'm happy to say, we've all survived it, and that my little family of lazy, low-achievers is doing more than sitting around playing video games all day. We all have some scars and bruises, sure, and I think people who are choosing this path for themselves should know that.

What I love about Amy's recordings is that she's willing to reveal the Dark Side as well as the joy. How hard it can be. Rewarding, by far, in terms of the quality of relationship you ultimately develop with your children, but still really, really hard.

I wish I could have heard more of that ten or fifteen years ago.

Here's the link again. Hope you give it a listen. Amy rocks.

Twenty years ago today, I gave birth to my first son. It's not his 18th birthday or his 21st, both somehow more legally significant, but to me, this is a biggie. He's no longer a teen and, well, it just feels different on my end saying out loud that I'm mom to a 20 year old.

So much time, so much has changed, so much has stayed the same.

We were living in Philly, in the Bush Sr. era. Two, now three, crazy kids intent on doing things outside of the box, continuing on in our rock and roll Grateful Dead lifestyle, only now with a diaper bag and car seat.

No minivans for us. No vaccinations, cribs, disposable diapers, playpens, strollers, or school. The pacifier? Not my idea at all.. that was a lovely gift from my MIL... sarcasm intended.

Nope we were gonna... sorry, I should say, I was going to be the quintessential alternative earth mom if it killed me. Or the marriage. Or the baby.

Won't go into the long and horrific details of the birth... well, not really horrific. Let's just say that using the book, "Spiritual Midwifery" as my only guide as to what to expect was perhaps setting me up for some very high and unrealistic expectations. Staying up for 12 hours with labor pains, sure I was ready to pop the next morning, and then getting to the hospital* only to be told I was dilated maybe 1 cm. was not the best way to kick it off.

It wasn't another 19 hours until my first born made it into the world. My husband teases him to this day that ever since then, his habit is to keep us all waiting.. that he was sure he could hear him saying from the womb, "Hold on. I gotta get something."

In my son's defense, I wasn't in a great hurry to push him out. I mean, I was, but was actually holding out for a more ideal solution. Or for someone else to do it. Kinda the story of my life. It felt far less painful when he wasn't crowning than when he was, so, of course, I chose the easier route. Easier in than out.

God, I really had no idea how true that would be.

But out he came. Blue and not breathing, and with the cord around his neck. Five minutes of panic, praying, and possibly the closest connection I had to my husband before or since, until we finally heard him cry.

And then weeks of baby bliss. Intermingled with stress, sleep deprivation, heart-wrenching that I never could have imagined, and utter, and total amazement.

A person. A person came out of me and is now here beside us. A tiny, beautiful person, with a pinched lower lip and one green eye, and one flecked with brown. And not a clue of how much upheaval he would come to cause in our lives.

I would never be the same. Nor would I want to be.

Happy Birthday, R.E.M. We made it pretty far.

(* And, if you're wondering about the incongruence between my earth-mama aspirations, and me going the hospital, it's because that particular one had a "birthing suite", run by midwives, and the director of which was the dad (yes, a male midwife) of a good friend of ours.)

You have to understand the backstory. I've been married, to a guy, for twenty years. I have four sons, the oldest is almost 20. That's five -FIVE- males in my house, but nary a sports-watcher.

I've long considered myself one of the luckiest wives in America.

Not that I hate sports. As I once told a friend, I can easily get into it, but only if's what other people are doing around me. I was quite the football fan back in high school.. but mostly because the guy I was dating was too.

(And as I've stated here.. I can make just as much a fool out of myself as any other soccer mom..)

So. Hubs returns from the beach to announce that he's 'fallen off the wagon'. The Philly sports wagon, that is, which he boarded back in '81, after just too much disappointment and heartbreak. He's introduced himself as a 'recovering Eagles fan' ever since.

But, the Phillies are, once again, in the World Series, and for whatever reason, he feels compelled to get involved. I lent my presence to watching the second game with him, though I was far more interested in my computer screen, and slightly disturbed by his insistance in updating me.

Halloween night, though.. third game, and I come home from trick or treating, to find more guys in my house and of course, beer. (Oh, PS: my 'costume'? A red Phillies cap... for me, a huge disguise, but no one else seemed to get the irony...)

So I grabbed an apricot Sea Dog and planted myself on the couch.

I'm not sure at which point I got hooked, but I can tell you it was, at first, more about a fascination with the different players and their mannerisms.

Pettitte's 'glove over the face' stare, Jeter's jitters, Hamels' baby-face, Ruiz's zen-like composure, A-Rod getting hit with the ball.. twice (whoopsie!), and Werth's peculiar batting stance.

Oh.... Jayson Werth.

One wonders, when looking at him taking the bat, if maybe he really cares at all. Like he was on his way over to grab a hot dog, but then was like,' Huh? You want me to bat? Uh, how do you hold this thing? Like this...?" And Bip! Out of the park it goes.

Like, 'I'd rather be surfing, but what the hell, I'll play some ball.'*

Not that he carried that same two solo-homer success into the next two games, but still, just seeing his blondish hair waving as he ran for pop-flies on the outfield, gave me confidence that he had it all under control.

So, now I'm caught. The Phillies won (just barely) last night, which means I have one day of rest, and then at least one more night of staying up too late with heart palpitations.

But Jayson will make it all worth it. (Pun totally NOT intended...)

(*I have no idea if he surfs... just seems to fit the stereotype..)

(PPS: To be fair, Cole Hamels is another reason why I traded the world series for twitter that night...)

Sexy, not as in the allure of long legs, voluptuous cleavage and flowing hair.. none of which I have ... but as in that juicy quality of life. Sexuality and passion... the realm of the root chakra.. the wellspring of all creativity, connection to the earth, what it means to be a spiritual being in a physical body... fully alive and fully in relationship with the world and all its inhabitants.

This dream, well, I won't go into the gory details, but it was an invitation to explore that part of myself. A part, I had just been discovering, I have shied away from...mostly due to parental legacy. (Yes, I forgive them.) The vision I was given in my dream was of fear. And guilt. And exhilaration. But also permission to go there. Now.

And then I woke up. Eric was gone and I was left with a strong desire to get on the treadmill.

I don't expect to grow longer legs, or fantastic breasts, or suddenly appear twenty years younger. So, does that mean that I can't embrace my sexuality?

I think not. So, back to my pondering about what being sexy means to me. And a list thus far:

Sexy is ... self-respect

Sexy is ... feeling comfortable, no, simply radiant and divine, in my own skin

Sexy is ... confidence as in when coming from the heart

Sexy is ... honesty

Sexy is ... gracefulness

Sexy is ... healthy

Sexy is ... self-care

Sexy is ... losing myself in the moment

Sexy is ... taking responsibility

Sexy is ... enveloping another with warmth

Sexy is ... attentiveness to glimpses of gorgeousness

Sexy is ... saying yes

Sexy is ... saying no

Sexy is ... grooving to my own rhythm

Sexy is ... meeting an Other, particularly a male other, right where they are, without any diminishment of my own power or of theirs

Sexy is ... staying in that moment of intense intimacy without flinching or backing down

Sexy is ... fearlessness. Fearlessness is sexy

Sexy is ... letting love decide

What's your definition?

(Small confession: Of course, I know of the book, but never read it. Though I have read "In the Night Kitchen".)

I still wanted to see it.

Had no idea what I was in for.

Blame it on overly sensitive-ness. Or the genius of Spike Jonz. But it got me. Thankfully there were only two other people in the theater. Way behind me. And A-9-Y-O didn't notice me drying my eyes with my sweater sleeve.

Anytime I am privy to the secret emotional life of boys, I am touched. I have four, after all. And while they put on brave faces, and even when they don't, it's never easy for a parent to know that there is pain there that we can't fix.  Or that we may be the cause of. And things we can never protect them from. To see it portrayed ... to see what a young boy does to deal with the heaviness of life in his secretest of hiding places when no one else will pay attention, it tears open my heart.

But it went further than that. Back to my own unresolved stuff. Sadness, loneliness, insecurity, unfair treatment, misunderstanding, fear. So much fear. No one getting me. The irresistible urge to scream and destroy and howl at the moon in rage and joy and wild kid abandon. And being shushed because I'm acting inappropriate and out of control.

This movie hit on all of it.

There was I was, happily munching on my smuggled-in popcorn, when suddenly and unexpectedly laid bare and raw as I relived those emotions ... the tightness in my chest, the tears smearing my mascara, as Max sailed away to the island of the Wild Things, to proclaim himself king and promise to make everything in the world all better where only the things you want to happen will happen.

I won't go further and spoil it for you if you haven't seen it. I will only echo the reviews the I've read about how Spike Jonz did not shy away from the raw, conflicted emotions of childhood. And good for him. Too many kids movies are dumb, loud, condescending and safe. And full of potty humor. Not that I have anything against that, but what a refreshing, though emotionally exhausting, alternative.

Maybe you won't find it as heavy and self-reflective as I did. If not, you can still enjoy the simple beauty and wit of the screenplay.

As for me, I think I need to go build a blanket fort and lay low with some imaginary friends for a few days. And then howl a little. I am looong overdue.

I know that no is a really hard word to say for a lot of us. And to just say no, without any explanations, qualifying statements, or my favorite: 'escape hatches', is often excruciating.

This is my current lesson. Again. Because in the healing of my relationship with myself, this comes up at the top of the list in ways to regain self-respect and trust in myself... the ability to say no.

And, the ability to say no, and mean it, is the only way I can be able to say yes. And really mean that.

Saying no has miraculous properties. It clears clutter, resolves ambiguity, heals inner (and outer) conflict, restores libido, makes you a little taller, and I'm sure, is great for the complexion.

So, why, do I keep not saying no?

Or why do I say no, and then tack on an escape hatch?

I know why. It's that need for approval thing. So flippin' obvious.

But even knowing that has not really stopped the word, "but.." from leaving my lips, even as I'm watching the word form and fly out of my mouth before I can stop it. The bruises I still bear from kicking myself in the ass the last time I did this seem to have no effect either.

What the hell?

Two situations within an 18 hour period show me that I have some more work to do around this no thing.

The first one made more perplexing because a 'no' was not even involved. Someone had offered to buy something from me... already made up her mind to do so!... and I offered her a way to not give me all the money she was already planning on giving me. Instead, I offered to barter part of it for something that I did not really want at that time.. in fact, I was really needing the cash, and I TOTALLY gave her an out that she didn't even ask for! WHY????

And then, the next morning, I got a call asking if I could see a friend of hers that day, who needed some emergency shiatsu work done. This was a day I typically don't work, but I called her with the number of someone else who I thought could help. I was very clear (or so I thought) in myself that I would not go in, that this day I would be home with my kids, as they expected, and so imagine my astonishment when I could hear myself telling this woman, .."and if he can't help you today, just call me back and I'll come in."

W.T.F. ????!!!!!

And don't even get me started on the multitude of variations and exceptions and justifications around raising my rates.

So, sigh.

Am I hopeless? Is there some sort of instant gag or steel trap that can cover my mouth after the decision, but before the loophole? Do I need to recite 500 affirmations daily that I'm worthy of a 'no'? That I'm good enough, and smart enough, and gosh darn it people will still like me, even if stick to my guns? (Or not? And that's okay, too..?)

Thoughts? War stories to share? Would love to hear them.

Heck, a plane ticket must just be in order.

Anyway, I saw that she posted this sweet little piece, 'wanted: a life', on her Facebook page yesterday. I asked if I could lift it and post it on my blog, as well as tattoo it to my forehead.

I'll just let you read it without my further commentary. And if you want to get to know Heidi more (@curiousHeidiHi on twitter), here is her site, here is her blog, and here she is.

Thank you, Heidi...

Too much info not enough ear.
Too much bony not enough rear.

Too much quiet not enough shout.
Not enough action too much doubt.

Too much air and not enough ground.
Too much square not enough round.

Too much look and not enough find.
Not enough body too much mind.

Too much chair and not enough run.
Too much 'puter not enough pun.

Too much keyboard not enough page.
Too much screen not enough stage.

Too much restless not enough fill.
Too much careful not enough kill.

Too much edge and not enough dive.
Too much dead and not enough 'live.

Too much water not enough wine.
Too much popcorn not enough dine.

Too much in and not enough out.
Too much teapot not enough spout.

Too much worry not enough play.
Too much bed and not enough hay.

Too much navy not enough red.
Too much ancient not enough dead.

Too much gravy not enough blood.
Too much cleanly not enough crud.

Too much cover not enough bare.
Too much careful not enough dare.

Too much waiting not enough move.
Not enough silly too much brood.

Too much mild not enough spice.
Not enough badass far too much nice.

Wanted:

My Right People. People who resonate with my shiatsu work (and me) who love it (and me), who want it and have the means to bring it into their lives regularly, so I can continue to have an office (or two) for them to come to, and I can extend my services to folks who may not be able to always afford my rates.

In other words, people who will support me, energetically and financially. And who, in turn, I can express my gift and desire to reconnect people with their Source.

Ways It Can Happen:

Coming across my cards, flyers, and other ads scattered throughout the universe

Hearing from a trusted friend how awesome it is

Resurfacing from the past (I have many dormant 'Right People' that I would love to see again!)

Allured by the magic of my new space at CHA

Discovering me at an event in which I was doing chair massage

Motivated to try after a workshop I've given (yet to be planned)

My Commitment:

I will give my Right People a loving, warm place to come to, kick-ass shiatsu treatments, my love and care beyond the treatment room, my utmost professionalism mixed with humor, and my undying appreciation.

Could this be you?